


Touch

by Carola_dl



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: All Humans, Alternate Universe - Office, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:13:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26612767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carola_dl/pseuds/Carola_dl
Summary: The office competitiveness between Bulma and Vegeta evolves into furtive touches.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs & Yamcha, Bulma Briefs/Vegeta
Comments: 19
Kudos: 45





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Inspiration struck me yesterday with this AU and I couldn't take it off my mind, so here it is. For those who follow my other fanfic: "Text me, stranger", don't worry, the chapters will keep coming!

**TOUCH**

She saw _him_ for the first time through the water dispenser in the office kitchen: his facial features were out of focus due to the light refraction, but still, she recognized her opponent in his posture, in the way he kept his shoulders straight and his head high.

She had heard his name for the first time only three days ago, from the mouth of her mediocre boss, Mr. Satan. He had told her that they were expecting a new employee, someone brilliant, he said, but she had her doubts, mainly because in her world the definition of brilliance had her picture under it, and she had met few people who could compare - only her father, really. Bulma feigned indifference, tried to make Mr. Satan think that she couldn’t care less if they brought some asshole from an expensive college to do the job that should’ve been only hers. Her incredibly stupid boss refused to give her the load of work she had asked for – in a desperate attempt to sate her boredom - just because her boobs were L-sized and she used high heels. But what did she expect? Sometimes it was too easy to forget that she was working in a company that fabricated photocopiers, not robots.

She had been born for better things, but her life had taken a turn for the worse when her parents had died way too early. In any way, this story wasn’t about them, it wasn’t even about her grief, it was about him: _Vegeta fucking Ouiji._

Vegeta Ouiji stepped away from the water dispenser and ruined her carefully-planned life. The moment she fixed her eyes on him – this time in high resolution-, she felt the thrill of the competition and the weird temptation of clawing his face with her red nails and marking him.

“This is the kitchen, small but homely, wouldn’t you say?” Mr. Satan said with the smile of a proud father. Vegeta, at his side, answered with a guttural noise that didn’t seem to either assent or dissent. “And this lovely pretty woman of the bright blue hair that’s hiding behind the water dispenser is our one and only Bulma Briefs”.

Bulma forced a smile while she wondered if he had introduced Krilin as a short bald and self-deprecating ex-monk, probably not. Her inner feminist shut up when Vegeta turned around to look at her with an intense stare that was absolutely unnecessary and unwelcome, not because it contained any sexual undertone – she could have borne that with more dignity - but because he seemed to dismiss her completely just with one fleeting look.

“She does all the difficult tasks in the company,” Mr. Satan added, oversimplifying her job in a way that she didn’t completely disapprove. “So we thought it would be better to find someone to help her out.”

Bulma took her hand out, offering it for a shake, but Vegeta didn’t move.

“I’m not an assistant. I’m not here to help anyone, I’m a problem solver.” He said, his voice as arrogant as the crease between his brows.

Mr. Satan got tongue-tied for a moment before he could reorganize his words “Oh, of course. Well, let’s say we decided to hire someone with expertise that could teach her some things.”

That disrespect left her completely petrified, to the point where her arm was still stretched out, and Vegeta took advantage of her bewilderment to finally shake her hand, accepting a new hierarchy that put her aside as a mere assistant. She fumed, clenching her teeth.

_That was the first time she touched him, and it wouldn’t be the last._

+++

They started working right away. Because of the cramped office, they had to sit in the same table, so close that their knees touched under the table and their fingers were inches apart from each other. Vegeta ignored her, as if she weren’t there or he didn’t need her help, and if Bulma had felt bored by her unchallenging work before, now she felt she had absolutely nothing to do.

So she tried to rile him up. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, knowing that her stiletto heels were hitting his legs every fucking damn time. She went to grab the stapler at the same time than he did, so when their fingers crashed together, the stapler went flying out of their desk. When she saw that he was taking his disposable paper coffee cup to his lips, she stood up too suddenly and abruptly, making the table tremble and his coffee to spill over his shirt. He never said anything, as if his words were gold nuggets that he didn’t want to waste. He only looked at her with those eyes full of hate that filled her with more excitement than dread.

+++

That same night, while she made love to her boyfriend, she closed her eyes, scratched Yamcha’s back with her nails and _came_ trembling, with her voice stuck in her throat and the image of those furious eyes in her mind.

“Shit, Bulma. What did you do to my back?”

“Sorry. I got distracted. I had other things on my mind”, she mumbled, getting out of bed and barricading herself in the bathroom.

She could hear his voice from the bedroom, “What other things?” in a whisper that was more meant for him than her.

She felt guilty, but only because she allowed her work frustrations to sneak into her love life too often. Her thoughts about Vegeta didn’t mean anything, they were just an added facet of her competitive personality.

+++

The next day, she went a work with a skirt and her taller heels. When she arrived at the office, Vegeta was already sitting at their desk, and the table was almost completely occupied by his things. He was sitting with a perfect posture, and the sight of him, so ridiculously formal, gave her an idea. She sat in the chair as a rebellious teen would, keeping a big distance between chair and table, and with her torso bending over the desk, as if she didn’t know if she wanted to work or to sleep.

Vegeta looked at her with a raised brow that revealed his disapproval, but he didn’t say anything, so Bulma started again with her game of crossing and uncrossing her legs, caressing his calves with her heels. After several minutes of brave resistance, Vegeta grabbed her ankle under the table, stopping her in the act of uncrossing her legs once again. They looked at each other, frozen in their own rivalry. She didn’t move, didn’t try to free her foot from his claws, and only dared to smile defiantly at him. Without changing his facial expression, Vegeta started caressing the bone in her ankle with his thumb, in circular movements. He didn’t take his eyes from her, maybe expecting her to give him a sign of no consent, but she didn’t do anything during the seconds that lasted this odd battle. Then, suddenly, Vegeta pushed her leg towards him, violently, bringing her whole body against the desk. Her stomach hit the edge of the table, leaving her breathless for an excruciating second. Vegeta let go of her foot, his eyes still fixed on her now red face.

“Sit as an adult” He ordered with his firm voice.

Bulma glared at him, she would show him how _adult_ she could be.

Half an hour later, when Vegeta was looking over some documents with a deep frown that seemed to indicate that what he was reading didn’t make much sense, Bulma went around the table, stood right behind him and placed her hand on the back of his neck, as she faked that she was reading over his shoulder. She noticed how Vegeta tensed under her fingertips, and with a vindictive smile, Bulma started caressing his neck with the same circular movements that he had applied to her ankle. But matching his insolence wasn’t satisfying enough, so she pressed her fingernails into his nape, just with the enough strength to be felt without drawing blood.

Vegeta didn’t say anything, didn’t even move – he was a worthy rival.

+++

“How’s the new guy?” Yamcha asked, while they shared a salad.

“An arrogant asshole.” Bulma answered honestly. Yamcha chuckled.

+++

It was an accident:

Although the stilettos could be a very useful torture weapon, they also were uncomfortable accessories for walking. When she stood up to go for her third cup of coffee, she tripped with the leg of the table and would’ve fallen to the floor face-first if it wouldn’t have been for Vegeta’s impressive reflexes. He caught her by the waist, with his big hands touching her naked skin under her shirt. Still surprised by the almost-fall, Bulma let herself be held by him, also grabbing him strongly around his arms. The muscles under her fingers felt like hills of smooth sand.

He let her go too soon.

“I know. I know what you’re going to say” said Bulma, trying to hide her mortification, “Walk as an adult!” She said, imitating his voice.

Vegeta raised both brows, and Bulma wasn’t sure if he was offended or entertained. “No. Just stop drinking so much coffee. It isn’t good for your health”.

She should’ve headed his advice, but of course, she didn’t.

+++

“Yamcha. Do you think I drink too much coffee?”

“Yes, you’re addicted, but that is nothing new”.

“I know. I think I am addicted to addictions”.

“What other addiction do you have?”

“Work”.

+++

She did the coffee trick again. She waited for him to grab his coffee and take it to his lips, not noticing that his intention was to blow it instead of drinking it. She stood up, too fast, too brusquely, and his _scalding_ coffee fell over his shirt.

“Shit!” he exclaimed, surprising her, because he always used a very proper language.

“Shit!” She said back, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“You have to be more careful, you can’t stand up and sit and walk as if you were the only tangible thing in this fucking small office. You’re going to kill yourself, or worse: me!”

“I’m sorry.” She repeated, feeling truly contrite.

Vegeta looked up at the big stain in his shirt and grunted. Without looking at her, he stretched out his arm in her direction, and Bulma grabbed his hand, accepting this peace offering. Vegeta glared at her:

“What are you doing? Pass me the napkins!”

“Oh, shit! Sorry.” She said, realizing at once that she had misunderstood Vegeta’s gesture. She immediately grabbed the napkins and passed them to him. Vegeta tried to clean his shirt, but it was no use, the white had become a dirty and wet beige.

During the forty next minutes, while they worked in their respective tasks, Bulma felt that he was ignoring her with real aversion. He wasn’t doing anything that he hadn’t done before – just basically _not_ looking her way – but this time it felt personal. Bulma went to the kitchen and returned with a cup of coffee of her own.

“Vegeta.” she said, standing by their desk.

He looked up and saw the coffee in her hand.

“I don’t want another coffee. Thanks.” He said, looking at his computer again.

“It’s not for you.”

Vegeta looked up again, and Bulma spilled the coffee on her neckline, staining her chest and her shirt with the brown liquid. She felt the fabric adhering to her skin and Vegeta’s eyes following the journey of the coffee down her cleavage.

“Does that make us even?”

“Was the coffee very hot?”

“Not really”.

“Then, no.” He answered, but he was smiling and it felt like a victory.

+++

“Bulma, what happened?” Yamcha asked as soon as she arrived home, pointing at her stained shirt.

“I’m a clutz”.

+++

That next day, when the clock struck the hour that they were supposed to go home, Vegeta didn’t move from his seat. Bulma looked up from his computer and stared at him, frowning.

“I see you aren’t in any rush to leave. You don’t have anyone waiting for you at home?”

“No, but you do.” Vegeta said, not taking his eyes off his own computer. Bulma wondered how he knew about Yamcha, he didn’t seem one for chit-chats. “So you are free to go.”

She didn’t need anyone’s permission. He wasn’t her boss, even when he seemed to think so. And she knew exactly what he intended: he wanted to surpass her, to make Mr. Satan believe that he was the most hardworking one between the two, the responsible one, the employee who would break his back to make sure the job was absolutely perfect before handing it. Bulma wasn’t going to allow him _to win_ , under any circumstance.

“No, I actually have a lot of work today too.” She answered, daring him with her eyes to contradict her. He simply shrugged.

So she stayed, reviewing the work she had already done over and over again, and even when she was dying of boredom, she tried to look like she was immersed in the most interesting topic she had ever had the pleasure of reading. Every other employee left, one after the other, until it was just them.

Bulma was actually doing quizzes about “what TV character are you?”, when she heard the sound of Vegeta’s laptop closing shut. She sighed, feeling like that sound granted her the freedom she had been praying for. She was determined not to leave a minute _before_ Vegeta, and with the same passion, she was now determined not to leave a minute _after_ Vegeta.

“Wait! I have also finished”.

Vegeta ignored her, he put his laptop inside its case and started walking towards the door. Bulma threw all her belongings into her huge bag in a rush and run after Vegeta.

“Hey, asshole! Didn’t you hear me?”

Vegeta turned around, looking at her with his signature frown. “You only said you had finished too, that didn’t require an answer from me”.

“Actually, I said ‘wait!’ too”.

“Why would you want me to wait for you? We live in different houses”.

“Really? I haven’t noticed.” Bulma answered, sarcastically. “I guess… just so we could go down in the elevator together.”

“I still don’t see the point of it.” Vegeta said, pushing the button to open the doors of the elevator.

Bulma shrugged. “Just something we humans do from time to time.” To her surprise, Vegeta chuckled, amused by her insult.

The elevator’s doors opened with a beeping sound and Bulma and Vegeta stepped into the cabin. They both moved their hands up to press the first-floor button and their fingers collided together on that white number one, pushing it at the same time. Before Vegeta could withdraw his hand, Bulma grabbed his fingers strongly, caressing his rough palm and observing every inch of skin in his hand as if it were unconquered land.

“Your skin is… rough.”

After one or two beats, he asked “Unpleasant?”

“No. Just different to the touch, somehow. Pleasant, even.”

Bulma continued touching his hand, familiarizing herself with every line. When she looked up, she noticed that the tips of his ears were red. He swallowed, and Bulma looked fascinated the movement of his Adam’s apple. She felt a little bit of pressure in her hand, and when she looked down again, she realized that she was still holding his hand.

“You have very big hands”.

“To touch you better.” He whispered, drowning under the pull of this electric atmosphere. She smiled, and tried to contain a laugh when his expression turned into a panicky one. “No! I didn’t mean… I just was making a…”.

“A little red riding hood reference. I got it.”

“Yes. Good. I wasn’t… Yes.” He answered, still feeling awkward.

The elevator arrived to the first floor and opened the doors with another beep. They stepped out of it, one after the other, said their goodbyes and went their separate ways – until tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm curious. By this point, would you say that Bulma is cheating on Yamcha?  
> I wanted to study here the intimacy of touch, how it can mean nothing and it can mean everything at the same time. 
> 
> I posted it as a one-shot, but it could turn into a two or three chapters fanfic - because I do have some ideas for the continuation, so let me know if this is something you would be interested in reading. 
> 
> Also, I added the tag Bulma & Yamcha instead of Bulma/Yamcha even when they're together and have sex here because I am sure no fan of Bulma/Yamcha would want to read something like this. (Am I the only one who thinks we should find some different way of tagging the relationship with that initial partner that gets humilliated, cheated on, simply loses to the romantic hero or becomes the villain? - Welcome to my TED Talk!).


End file.
